


Ridiculous

by transpreussen



Series: Twin Skeletons [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), No character bashing, Post - Order of the Phoenix, Slytherin Harry, Time Travel, Young Tom Riddle, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:26:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpreussen/pseuds/transpreussen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He was ridiculous, utterly and completely ridiculous. Ridiculous was the only word that could define him, who he was and how he acted; ridiculously easy going, ridiculously cheerful, ridiculously innocent, ridiculously nice, ridiculously cute and he had not just thought that had he?"</p><p> Tom Marvolo Riddle, 5th Year Star Student and Dark Lord in the making, finds himself increasingly intrigued by a fascinating transfer student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intrigued

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little oneshot I wrote the other day, thought I might as well post it. Maybe I'll make it into a series of sorts? I don't know yet.  
> It's been a while since I wrote anything for Harry Potter and it's the first time I ever post it, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!  
> Please enjoy!

 Tom Riddle was _not_ flustered.

 Tom Riddle did not _do_ flustered.

 Tom Riddle was Hogwarts’ Star Student, Slytherin’s Poster Boy, a shining example to follow; he was one of the brightest minds that had ever crossed the school, walked its halls and inhabited its rooms. He was polite, charming – always in control, and always slipping away from whatever trouble he might have caused or taken part on.

 Tom Riddle did not _do_ flustered.

 He didn’t.

 He was far too dignified for that.

 However, he was _pretty_ sure that was the word fit to describe how he felt and acted whenever he was around that… _boy_.

 That _boy_ who was sitting right next to him, for all intents and purposes completely focused on the lesson going on.

 Tom gritted his teeth.

  _He_ was ridiculous, utterly and completely ridiculous. Ridiculous was the only word that could define him, who he was and how he acted; _ridiculously_ easy going, _ridiculously_ cheerful, _ridiculously_ innocent, _ridiculously_ nice, _ridiculously_ cute and _he had not just thought that had he?_

Narrowing his eyes (slightly, subtly, always keeping up his good student persona), Tom attempted to pay attention to whatever Slughorn happened to be babbling about that day instead of actually teaching anything useful, like usual.

 However, tried as he might, his attention kept being diverted back to the _ridiculous_ , odd, intriguing boy sitting next to him.

 He’d arrived that year, along with a bushy haired girl and two red headed siblings, cousins of his apparently. A sixteen year old “transfer student”, Dippet had said. “Home-schooled” by his aunts and uncle until two of them had met a tragic demise and the ones left, parents of the redheads, could not afford to teach them at home and had decided to send them to school.

 They were all an odd bunch. Slightly aloof, maybe just shy; their behaviour was usually excused by mourning. The other three had all been sorted into Gryffindor; except for _him._

 _Him_ with his bright, mischievous green eyes and looped sided smiles, with his cheerful demeanour and _ridiculous(_ ly messy) black hair (always sticking up in the back, why was it always sticking up in the back?) and that mysterious lightning shaped scar.

 (He tended to attempt to cover it with his fringe. Seemed like an unconscious habit, which Tom couldn’t help but wonder about)

 All of him was unusual. Despite being in Slytherin, he didn’t _act_ like a Slytherin; too happy, too direct, too righteous and far too easy to be around especially when compared to all the stuffy old blood purebloods, much to Tom’s growing frustration.

 On top of that, he was a half blood.

 On top of that, he seemed to be an incredibly proficient wizard.

 On top of that, even though he seemed to be an incredibly proficient wizard, he didn’t seem overly concerned with academic success and even though that certainly annoyed Tom it was also another addition to the growing list of ‘whys’ and ‘whats’ and ‘whens’ regarding that _boy_ that had quickly started to plague Tom’s mind

 He was, in a word, intriguing.

 He was intriguing in a way Tom had never encountered before and that made him downright _fascinating._

There was something about him that was so completely familiar, so utterly tempting and captivating but distant, unreachable; it made Tom feel like he was trying to grasp smoke with his bare hands and that frustrated him to no end.

 “Hey, Tom?”

  _Goodness_ , even his _voice_ was captivating.

 “Yes?” He answered, curtly. Turning to the shorter boy, he determinedly tried to ignore the urge to smile and be pleasant and entirely too undignified because the future Lord Voldemort would _not_ lose his cool over a _smile._

(No matter how charming and sweet and generally beautiful)

 Distracted as he was, he almost missed Evans’ slightly mocking eye roll at his tone; however he did not actually miss it, and had a split second to wonder about the reaction before the other boy smoothly masked it with that fond look he seemed to be able to pull on for everybody.

 Too smoothly. Too easily.

 “Which potion do you want to brew?” Evans whispered, still with that fond look on his face and Tom mentally filed away the curious happening for later as he quickly looked over the options Slughorn had written on the board. Arguably, the most interesting one was Veritasserum, but he knew that it wouldn’t be the one his incredibly sentimental Potions teacher was more interested in seeing.

 “What about Amortencia?” He answered back, and tried not to smirk too openly when he caught a glimpse of Evans’ sudden blush “It’s certainly an interesting potion and it would be quite a boost if we managed to brew it right.”

 And then Evans smiled slightly, and hopping off his stool to go get the necessary ingredients, Tom felt that damnable flush attempt to rise to his cheeks again when he heard the other boy’s muttered remark.

 “Speaking as if you aren’t the smartest person in this school, Riddle.”

 It was _not_ the first time he’d heard something like that, he’d heard _better_ , bigger praises from more powerful, more important people, _multiple_ times, _endless_ times so why was it that none had made him feel like that small, whispered sentence did?

 Tom Riddle did not _do_ flustered _._

 Harry Evans seemed dead set on proving otherwise.


	2. Captivated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took longer than I expected, but I hope you enjoy. I don't know how I feel about this chapter, so feedback would be much appreciated!  
> On that note - maybe you guys would be interested in the little something I'll be posting as well

 If anyone asked, Tom would say he was doing research.

 Of course, no one would ask. He only got along with a small number of people, and even then, ‘get along’ was a _lose_ term; they feared and admired him and he ordered them around. None would dare question what he did with his free time, so the risk was non-existent.

 And even if they asked, he probably wouldn’t tell them.

 Which was understandable, really, since his ‘research’ topic was in fact quite… _singular._

 Evans was an early riser. He was apparently a quiet person by nature, and even after stepping out of the limits of the silencing charm he’d placed on his bed (maybe a vocal dreamer; nightmares were a more likely possibility) he wouldn’t make a sound. He got ready, got dressed and softly left the room before the others had even started to stir.

 He tended to have breakfast on the Gyrffindor table with his relatives. In contrast to his red headed cousins, he never ate a lot, and always did so quickly. He never sat with his back facing to door and was the first person to leave a room and the last to enter it.

 He liked to doodle in spare pieces of parchment during class. Sometimes snitches and brooms, usually animals. Particularly owls. Particularly snakes.

 Every single bit of information made Tom hungry for more.

 The truth was, Tom was pretty sure that was he was doing had evolved from ‘research’ to ‘actual stalking’ and maybe his feelings for Evans had changed from ‘slight intrigue’ to ‘full blown obsession’ and the healthiest course of action would probably be to pull back now.

 The truth also was, Tom had never been one for truth. He’d also never been one for health.

 So.

 Stalking it was.

 (Undignified, undignified, _so_ undignified, no one would ever hear of this _ever_ , Tom would _not allow it_ )

 He’d follow Evans after classes thought the corridors, always from a distance. Watch him during meals; how he _ate_ , _how much_ he ate, how he _acted_ , how he _spoke_. Wait until he went to bed and wake up earlier so he could trace the other boy’s routine.

 His mind was swarming and spinning with every piece of information he’d acquired in the last two weeks. He felt flushed, he felt bothered, he felt conflicted; he didn’t know what to do with all this information, he didn’t know why he felt compelled to look for information in the first place but the urge was there, all consuming and ever present and it took all of his reasonable amount of self-control to not act like a stuttering idiot every time he was next to Evans.

 Which happened to be almost every single class he had.

 The bell rang just as Evans crossed the threshold and after sending a cheeky grin as an answer to the Professor’s raised eyebrows the messy haired boy quickly made his way to the vacant seat next to Tom’s, sagging in his chair with a sigh, glasses askew and breathing heavily.

 Tom furiously told himself he was not at all affected by the display.

 “Made it just in time, huh?” Evans whispered, that damned grin still in place while he quickly took out parchment, ink and a quill out of his bag

 “You always do.” And of course Evans’ reaction was a widening grin

 “You always say that.” And then, with those impossibly bright green eyes, looking at Tom in that odd way he always did, with a hidden depth of emotion and incredibly intensity, he did the unthinkable: he winked.

 Tom felt his stomach flip over.

* * *

 He wasn’t sure what had happened. But he knew something had.

 Evans had started walking with him. Instead of spending break with his relatives, he’d taken to Tom’s side and it didn’t matter if they were in the library, in the Common Room, eating, walking through the school; they always had something to talk about, something to discuss – their tempers equally unstable, their stubbornness equally matched. Evans never backed down from an argument and knew just what to say; how to throw him off the loop, how to find faults in his arguing – it was exhilarating and wonderful and addicting and _Salazar help him Tom was fully obsessed with this boy_

 _Everything_ about him was fascinating and Tom was _far too deep_ , far too _into him_ and he could _not_ look away now, no matter how hard he tried because now his head was spinning with all the little details, with Evans’ enchanting, bright green eyes shining with passion and the all-consuming thrill of finding a worthy rival, his side looped smile framed by flushed cheeks, his slight fidgeting whenever he was nervous, his stubbornness, his determination and the way he was _basically everything Tom could ever wish for._

 He was left handed.

 He took his coffee black.

 His middle name was James.

 He’d had a pretty white owl.

 He was a Kant fan.

 He smelled like strawberries and the sea and something that was so entirely _his_ and he wanted him.

  _Tom wanted all of him and he would not hold back until he had it._

* * *

 “Leave Harry alone.”

 The command was sharp, clear and did not surprise Tom at all.

 He smiled pleasantly

 “Why should I do that?”

 The girl narrowed her eyes. Her red hair was like fiery halo and if his thoughts hadn’t been consumed with black hair and half lidded green glances, Tom would’ve thought her pretty.

 He would’ve thought her beautiful.

 “You’re a bad influence and you’re manipulating him into spending time with you.” Her jaw was set. She crossed her arms – typical defensive position “So, leave him alone. He doesn’t want to spend any more time with you.”

 “How interesting. I hadn’t realised he felt uncomfortable in my presence. He never showed signs of such.” Tom looked at her pensively, and felt a small, lightly mocking smile twist the corners of his lips “Or, perhaps, you’re the one who feels uncomfortable. How…amusing. I didn’t think Evans was one to let others fight his battles.”

 “We´re family.” Her cheeks were red; good, she was losing her composure “His battles are my battles. But of course, you wouldn’t know anything about _family_ , would you Riddle?”

 His smile froze and he felt his stomach sink.

 Low blow.

 “That’s enough Ginny.”

 Hearing _that_ voice was enough to snap Tom back. He fought to keep his facial expression in check as he felt that giddy, obsessive feeling he’d come to associate with Evans, and did not move a muscle when the green eyed boy walked right by him and grabbed the girl’s forearm. And then he spoke, and that giddy feeling grew as Tom felt the hairs in the back of his neck stand up

 “What do you think you’re doing?”

 His tone was quiet, and to someone not paying attention, it might’ve seemed soft; but Tom _heard_ the coldness weaving through the syllables, a warning chill that the girl certainly felt, for she seemed to flinch away from his touch

 Tom longed for it.

 “I was sticking up for you. We´re family, remember?” Her voice was sure, unwavering in its intensity. It matched her bold expression, but her nervously averting eyes revealed her hesitance and – dare he say it – _her fear_

Evans didn’t move. His shoulders tensed

 “I don’t need you to lie on my behalf.” He nearly hissed and she took a step back “And I don’t need you to meddle into my business; my battles are _not_ your battles. Besides,” and now he let her arm go, taking a step back and Tom could see the small, bitter smile as he proceeded “I wouldn’t know anything about family, would I, Gin?”

 She opened her mouth and quickly closed it again. She rubbed her fingers against each other repeatedly, shoulders tensed and arms half bent. She looked at Evans, completely ignoring Tom’s presence and spoke, brown eyes ablaze.

 “We need to talk. Hermione and Ron told me to come get you.”

 And she turned around, walking away briskly. Tom looked at Evans from the corner of his eye, seeing the boy narrow his eyes at the girl and standing perfectly still.

 Still. Silent. Angered. And far too close, far too reachable, far too _vulnerable_ because Tom could _feel_ his warmth seeping through their robes, could hear his breath, could count the few freckles in his cheeks and it would be too easy to simply reach for him and push him against a wall and sink his claws into him, make him _moan_ , make him _scream_ –

 “I should probably go.”

 “You should.” Tom agreed and he did not miss the other’s slight start at how low, how captivating (dare he say seductive?) Tom’s voice sounded.

 He didn’t miss the small, confident, answering smirk. He didn’t miss the slight flush.

 “Don’t worry, Tom. I promise you, I won’t keep you waiting.”

  _Oh little Harry. Be assured – you will not._

 Evans’ ears were pierced.

 And the moment Evans rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Tom felt his legs waver. He shakily walked to the wall and leaned on it, breathing slowly and staring straight ahead at the opposite stone wall.

 He was obsessed with Evans. That was an undeniable fact, one he would not even bother to contest – he was far too used to being obsessed, he tended to so quite often; he’d obsess about his work, about knowledge, about his quest; a _person_ was not the norm, but it wasn’t that different.

 There was a difference, however, one he hadn’t noticed before and one he wished he never had.

 But he would make it work in his favour. He was smart enough, he was good enough, he would make it work.

 Harry James Evans would be _his_ , completely his.

 No matter what it took.


	3. Embarrassed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was utterly ridiculous and abhorrent and so undignified! Evans would surely scoff at him, mock him because of course they weren’t friends, they barely knew each other! It was absurd to label their relationship as a friendship, the other boy was probably so embarrassed he would never speak a word to Tom again!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This took a while to get out, but hey, afternoon marathons do wonders right?  
>  I'm really sorry for the wait, but between school and writers block, it hasn't been easy. I didn't even spell check this, that's how eager I am to finally publish it. This also means that I'm really not sure of how well this turned out so, once again, feedback is greatly appreciated  
>  Also I have a small question for everyone at the end of the chapter. However, for now, please enjoy!

 He walked.

 To the Common Room, around the Common Room, in the Common Room. He walked and he thought and he planned and he waited. He was not a patient person, dear God no, but he knew his priorities and so he waited. And he schemed.

 He had determinedly, relentlessly, ambitiously studied and applied himself and learned about everything he could get his hands on in order to become better, stronger, _more powerful_. He charmed and built bridges and ensured alliances – he did everything he could do to prepare himself, to get some working ground, to establish the foundations to what he wanted to do _after_.

 It wasn’t all ready, of course; he still didn’t have as many resources as he wanted. He still didn’t have an answer to his main riddle. He was far from being ready.

 He was far, far from being ready to deal with a variable like Evans.

 But he could do it. He knew he could. He just needed to think.

 Tom wasn’t quite sure _what_ he felt for Evans, what term to label their…’relationship’ with. It certainly wasn’t dislike, but it definitely wasn’t friendship – there was too much fire, too much mystery, too much tension to call it a _friendship_ – and yet ‘acquaintances’ seemed to be rather lacking.

 If he was being honest with himself, Tom had to grudgingly admit that he _liked_ the boy. Which was completely absurd, having in mind how utterly _pathetic_ it was to grow attached to people and how _ridiculous_ the person in question was.

 (No one else was in the Common Room and therefore no one would _ever_ see the small, unconscious, fond smile that followed that train of thought and even if they had Tom would’ve denied it)

 So, he _liked_ Evans. He was rather obsessed and actually just absolutely mesmerized and he did not know _what_ he felt or _why_ he felt it but he knew that whatever it was required Evans and required his presence and required the adaption of his plans in order to accommodate this development.

 Focused as he was, he took no notice of the sound of someone entering the common room, nor did he listen to soft sound of the wall sliding into place or the rustle of robes as someone approached him. He did notice, however, the sudden shift in his balance as a weight collapsed in the seat next to him. Evans sighed and closed his eyes, not acknowledging Tom’s presence at first. This didn’t bother the Slytherin Perfect, as he instead chose to study the other’s features for any signs of how the confrontation (if that was even the correct term) with his family had gone.

 His breathing was stable, although his cheeks were somewhat flushed, and he seemed tense. An argument then, definitely, or at least something that made Evans nervous. Basic manners would advise him not to pry; nevertheless, Tom wanted to know what had happened, and as such he knew that he should wait until the other boy dignified him with any sort of acknowledgement.

 Tom remained silent, simply staring at Evans with a raised eyebrow and feeling his patience thin with every passing second. He was ready to throw caution to the winds and blatantly ask _what the hell_ hadhappened when the other boy sighed again, opened one of his eyes and looked at Tom with a small grin.

 “Hey.”

 There was a beat of silence as they just stared at each other, fast eyes looking and analysing and filling away information, guarded and attentive, like their talks always were.

 “Hey.” Tom replied, still looking, always looking. When Evans continued to show no intentions of actually speaking, seemingly content with just grinning at him with that pesky, annoying look in his half lidded eyes that always made Tom feel like he was one step behind, the older of the two continued, careful not to show the small spark of annoyance and incredible amount of curiosity he felt “That was quite the scene.”

 Evans snorted “That it was.”

  “And you said you wouldn’t keep me waiting.” His tone was light, and Tom smirked as Evans briefly lost his composure, looking confused and then proceeding onto flustered, and finally a small smile, obviously not expecting Tom to bring up… _odd_ exchange they’d had before. Tom considered it a small victory, being able to make Evans flustered as opposed to the other way around, and he continued as the other boy started to laugh “I feel betrayed. How many hours has it been? Two? Four? A whole day? Abandonment stings, darling.”

 “Oh I dearly apologize,” Evans managed to choke out between his snickering and Tom did _not_ , in any way shape or form, feel accomplished for making the other laugh, actually _laugh_ , not those odd grins and sarcastic smirks but an actual, honest and surprisingly contagious laugh. Tom felt himself start to smile as well as the other continued “I had no intention of keeping you waiting for this long, my love. Will you ever forgive me?”

 Tom pretended to ponder over the question for a bit, before deadpanning “No, not really.”

 Evans stopped laughing suddenly, turning around to look at him directly and sitting Indian style on the couch, crossing his arms “Rude.”

 “You were the one who kept me waiting, I’d say you are the rude one.”

 Evans rolled his eyes “I’m not lying when I said it wasn’t my intention. When Gin said they wanted to chat with me, I’d thought she meant a quick talk, not a full blown interrogation.”

 “Oh?” That certainly perked his interest “An interrogation? What could it be about, I wonder.”

 “You, of course.”

 “Funny.” He instantly replied “I don’t remember ever being the subject of someone else’s fights. The red head seemed extremely convinced that I was a ‘bad influence’ and, what was it? Oh yes, ‘manipulating you’ into spending time with me.”

 “Gin is…something else.” Evans sighed, scowling briefly “Don’t worry, she won’t bother you again.”

 “I must admit, I am incredibly curious though.” Crossing one leg over the other, Tom continued, keeping his tone light and his posture relaxed “I’ve been accused of being a lot of things, but a ‘bad influence’ was never one of them.” It made him uneasy truth to be told; a lot of his plans relied heavily in his public image, and having that _girl_ accuse him of being anything but the perfect student and Slytherin poster boy he was known as, even if nothing but a hoax, was not to be dismissed.

Something flashed through Evans’ eyes. It was quick, gone in a second, but Tom felt his own eyes narrow slightly and he was instantly on edge.

 He was a logical person, relying mostly on his intellect and never on his heart or emotions to make decisions. He planned and he schemed and he memorized and he _thought_. He was not, however, naïve enough to believe that instinct, particularly gut instinct, was unimportant enough to be dismissed.

 And his instinct told him there was something wrong.

 “I think she was just being paranoid.” Evans shrugged, ignorant of Tom’s thoughts furiously running around, ignorant but suspicious “With everything that has happened lately, I guess it’s normal that she’s distrustful of outsiders.” He smiled apologetically “No offense.”

 Tom forced himself to smile back “None taken.”

  “But still!” Harry continued, scowling and seemingly talking more to himself than anything,  “It’s infuriating! What does she – what do _they_ think I am? Some helpless little kid who can’t protect himself from the big bad wolf? No offense.”

 “None taken.” Tom watched with fascination as Harry started fidgeting, before jumping to his feet and starting to pace in front of Tom, along the couch’s length.

 “I mean it’s not like I’m _stupid_!! I _know_ what I’m doing, I don’t need any of them looking over my shoulder and lecturing me! I’m tired of them not trusting me! Merlin what even _is_ their damage? Why are they so fucking eager to find ways to discredit me? Haven’t I showed, time and time again that I can be trusted!? What are they even trying to accomplish!? I don’t _need_ any of them ordering me around and mothering me, I’VE NEVER HAD A MOTHER, I’VE DONE FINE WITHOUT A MOTHER, _I DON’T_ NEED ONE _NOW_!”

 He gestured widely as he spoke, his voice raising in volume and it took every ounce of Tom’s self-restraint not to stare too obviously, at his hands, at his wrists, at the way his body moved and the way he looked on that uniform without those heavy robes, at the shine of his hair, at the movement of his hips.

  Tom felt his mouth go dry and belatedly chastised himself, snapping to attention as Evans sighed, shoulders slumping.

 “I’m sorry.” He mumbled, not looking at Tom “I…kind of went overboard. I’m sorry.”

 “It’s fine.” He found himself saying, all the while feeling himself get slightly warmer. This was odd. Very odd. He vaguely wondered if he should be concerned

 “No it’s not fine I…I’m dumping all this stuff on you.”

 Tom spoke before he could truly process what he was about to say.

 “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

 Wait.

 What?

 There was silence. Evans was staring at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide and it would’ve been hilarious any other time, for now Tom was dead sure he was mirroring that expression to the smallest detail and he couldn’t force himself to stop, to take control, to act nonchalant because what the hell _was wrong with him?_

 He couldn’t believe he’d said that, he couldn’t _believe_ he’d said that, he couldn’t believe _he’d_ said _that_!

 Friends?! They were not _friends!_ Friendship was _demeaning_ , it was _unnecessary_ , it was a weak manifestation and a senseless phenomenon that amounted to _nothing_ , one of the ridiculous consequences of the human condition and therefore it ought to be dismissed and despised and that was what he had always done _until this very moment_!

 It was utterly ridiculous and abhorrent and so _undignified_! Evans would surely scoff at him, mock him because _of course_ they weren’t friends, they barely knew each other! It was absurd to label their relationship as a friendship, the other boy was probably so embarrassed he would never speak a word to Tom again!

 “Yeah, you’re right.”

 Wait.

 What?

 Evans was smiling at him; not his usual, loop sided mischievous grins or the teasing smirks, but a small, simple smile.

 “That is what friends are for. Thank you, Tom.”

 Tom’s stomach did another flip.

 He should probably see a Healer for that; it was certainly not normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, since this is somehow turning into a proper story, there are a lot of things, mainly from Harry's time and pov that I want to include. But I really dont fancy switching povs in this story, since this is strictly from Tom's point of view.  
>  So I was wondering, if you guys would prefer me to keep adding oneshots to the series, or simlpy turn 'Curious' into a series of oneshots. Or if you'd rather I didn't do anything. Thats a valid option too. Anyway, it's up to you!  
>  Once again, thanks for reading!


	4. Vengeful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It made so much sense and Tom narrowed his eyes because now there was hatred cursing through his veins, poisonous hatred towards anyone that had ever hurt Harry, any disgusting Muggle who’d thought themselves better than Harry, who’d thought they were above Harry simply because he was something they didn’t understand. It was hatred and anger and disgust and he could not stop picturing little Harry being punished after some feat of accidental magic, just like he couldn’t stop replaying, over and over his own memories, memories of being called names, of being mocked, of being beaten and attacked simply for being special."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:implied child abuse  
> Okay so it's not even funny for how long I had parts of this chapter idly sitting around my computer and how long it took for me to actually write it. If it sucks then it's because I couldn't stare at it any longer and felt that you guys waited more than enough for this.  
> I can't promise any sort of quick updates cause I'm currently an high school senior and school is taking away most of my time and will to write, quite unfortunately. But I hope you guys enjoy this regardless, i'm not very satisfied but oh well. Please enjoy, I'm sorry for any typos and I'd love if you could leave a review, especially if it is constructive criticism!

So maybe Tom did _do_ flustered.

 Rarely. Well, at least not often. Only sometimes. But only when he was with close friends. Or only when he was with Harry. Which was pretty much all the time.

 Okay so maybe he did flustered _a lot_.

 But only when he was with his friends.

 And that was… Harry.

 And oh Good Lord, when exactly had that green eyed, annoying, utterly _adorable_ menace of a human being become ‘ _Harry´_ rather than ‘ _Evans_ ’ and how exactly had he _not noticed_?!

 He frowned moodily at the pages of the book he was tightly clutching, his mind miles and mountains away from the intricate properties of downward slashing movements when used in transfigurations versus their utility in curses, topic on which he was supposed to have written 3 feet of parchment due to deliver tomorrow.

 Which meant that he should have done it yesterday.

 But he hadn’t because _yesterday_ Harry had been rather insistently asking Tom to play chess with him. _Just one game_ that whelp had said, his eyes wide open and his lower lip jutting out in an obvious pout, unlike any of his usual subtle manipulation tactics but which proved to be, unfortunately, irresistible.

 At least to Tom, who had made a courageous effort for a full of thirty minutes until he could no longer withhold the ‘puppy dog eyes’ (and now he could say that he fully understood the expression) and gave in, while trying to convince himself that Harry’s smug grin was fully annoying rather than adorably endearing.

 And there he was with that _word_ again! Evans was _not_ adorable, he was not and that was solely due to the fact that Tom didn’t find _things_ ‘adorable’. He found them useful, he found them interesting, he found them intriguing at times, fascinating even and he may rarely find them beautiful; but he did _not_ find them ‘adorable’!

 A sudden image of wide emerald green eyes flashed in his mind and he tried his best not to groan too loudly. After all, he was in a library and it would not to break any of its rules, particularly when he had the Librarian wrapped around his finger for being _such a good boy_ , so mild, so quiet, so polite and so _careful_ with her precious books.

 With a slight glance to check that yes, she was still engrossed in that new Transfiguration book that had recently been acquired by the school, Tom returned to his own book. It was actually rather interesting, really, the effect that wand movements had on the spell itself; knowing them would allow to create new spells, make existing ones better and even prevent from butchering up existing ones too bad. It was a topic that Tom was exceedingly interested in and thought extremely useful. That, coupled with the fact that it had never been part of his extracurricular studies should have meant that he would absolutely _devour_ this book and any other on the same topic, resulting in a brilliant essay due to obtain perfect marks, despite Dumbledore’s will to do otherwise.

 It was what was supposed to happen, it was simple logic and it was simple logic because it was not the first time such a thing happened. Magic was and had always been absolutely fascinating to him and Tom simply _couldn’t_ be bored with magic, even if it was something he had previously learnt. There was always something new to add, a better angle to approach a specific branch, a particularly small detail that he would usually forget unless it was spoken of a second time. Hence why he so often attempted to either stay ahead of his classes or review them often and hence why even more dedication and attention was awarded to those topics he was studying on his own or had never before heard of. He needed to _acquaint_ himself with them, needed to read, to learn, to _explore_ them by himself before he could take someone else’s word on something as volatile and personal as magic.

 Which was why his current inability to concentrate was so frustrating, so disconcerting, so utterly _vexing_ and _disturbing and he could not stop thinking about Harry._

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying really, _really_ hard not to give in to the small twinges of panic that had begun curling in his gut all because of that… _boy._  

Tom had told himself, at first, that he wasn’t sure how to feel about this..thing between ~~Harry~~ between Evans and him, this friendship that _he himself_ had so recklessly and foolishly started. He’d told himself that he didn’t know how he felt about it, that he was probably in shock or had just been victim of some sort of confounding jinx, that it would surely wear off in time and he’d go back to his usual, logical, calculating, _unsocial_ self.

_(although the subtle tingle he felt whenever Evans laughed at one of his snarky comments might’ve given him a clue about the unlikeliness of such an event, if he weren’t so dedicatedly ignoring those)_

 It was confusing, and slightly alarming, how easy it was to get along with Evans, how quickly Tom had got used to his presence, how quickly the other boy wormed his way into his life. Evans was quite keen, and not blatantly intrusive; Tom would find himself freely speaking about his past, about his thoughts, and Evans would quietly listen, smiling that odd, side looped smile of his.

 It was alarming.

 And it wasn’t the only alarming thing that was happening.

 First, it had been the peculiar feeling of disappointment whenever Evans sat next to his relatives in Gryffindor table, or did his homework with other peers rather than choosing to spend time with Tom. He’d been wary and very much on his guard about this feeling at first; however, as familiar sentiment of wanting Evans _near_ him, _close_ to him and _speaking only with him_ reared his head (quite strongly, might he add), the previously peculiar sensation was quickly attributed to the all too familiar possessiveness that had always been part of Tom life and was, as such, considered nothing but a simple variation of the norm.

 After all, feeling possessive of another person rather than an object was, in itself, a variation of the norm, and it wasn’t that odd that it would manifest itself differently.

 But then other, _weirder_ things continued to happen.

 Tom found himself wanting to make the other boy smile.

 And now _that_ was entirely disturbing.

 As were those slight tingles that sometimes surged through him whenever Evans laughed, or spoke about something he really liked, with that spark of passion in his eyes and the ridiculously contagious grin that made him look like a completely different, happier, more carefree person. It was _very_ worrisome how often Tom had the urge to incite that response in the other boy, and more worrisome even were those damned tingles that made his chest feel warm in a…not entirely unpleasant way.

  _(Tom had furiously looked for any spell or potion that could have caused such a reaction but he couldn’t find anything of any sort that came even close and he felt like tearing his hair out until Harry had found him and coerced him into a late night snack in the kitchens. How he knew where the kitchens where, or how to access them was beyond Tom’s comprehension. Another thing that was completely beyond Tom’s comprehension was how exactly had that green eyed nuisance been able to calm him down with little to no conscious effort)_

  And then, the cherry on top of the cake, of course, was how _distracted_ and unfocused Tom was _all the time,_ how he’d find himself daydreaming during meals or thinking about Evans during classes, how he simply _could not concentrate in easy tasks like reading a damn book!_

 He could feel hysterical laughter begin to bubble in his chest as he repeatedly tried to focus and re read the first sentence (of the first chapter. Of the first part. Of the first book) and simply _could not get that messy cute hair and that smooth tan skin and those beautiful green eyes out of his mind!_

He felt himself freeze, fingers tightening their hold on the poor book and light eyes widening in shock.

 Had he just thought of Harry’s eyes as beautiful?

 He had.

 Oh Good Lord.

 So focused was he on his shock and possible meaning of this ( _very unexpected!!)_ development – because _of course_ he has absolutely no trouble _whatsoever_ focusing in any matter regarding Harry Evans, the _whelp_ – that he didn’t notice as someone approached his table, all soft steps and cautious movements, and nearly felt his heart jump out of his chest when a female voice asked, hesitantly “Uh, Riddle? Are you okay?”

 It was almost like a switch had been turned – after all, he had practiced this reaction far too often for it to be anything but perfect.

 He released his tight hold on the book at the same time that he relaxed his features and schooled them into a slightly fatigued, but approachable expression and turned to look at whoever had sneaked up on him.

 ( _a feat very few people had ever managed and both his curiosity and suspicion immediately rose)_

 A bushy brown haired girl with a Gryffindor tie was staring at him, around four books clutched in her arms and a concerned look in her eyes that didn’t quite obscure the ever present wariness whenever she looked at him and Tom just _had_ to wonder at that and _what exactly_ had ever done to Harry’s relatives that resulted in that guarded, cautious attitude all of them adopted whenever forced to interact with him.

 Deciding that there was no time like the present to find out (and the fact that focusing on mysteries that didn’t evolve _Harry_ might help taking his mind off that imp), Tom smiled at the girl, making sure that the tiredness was evident in his features.

 “I’m afraid I’m just a bit tired. I’ve been a bit under the weather recently and that has not helped at all my studies. But thank you for the concern… Greenthorne? Is that right?”

 Greenthorne awarded him a small smile and nodded, looking to the whole world completely accepting of the rather reasonable lie he had just told her. Quite unfortunately for her, Tom was quite an intelligent person and could see how tense her shoulders were and how she, ever so slightly, clutched her books a bit more tightly, almost as if she was.. _scared._

  _Interesting._

“Are those about wand movements?” He questioned, knowing the answer before her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

 “Well yes, how did you…” Greenthorne quickly looked down at his table and at his own little collection of books and stopped “Oh I see. Well, mind if I sit here then? It’s easier to share.” Was presented as a quick justification, not that Tom needed any of course – she was playing right into his hands.

 “Be my guest.”

 Quickly, they rearranged the books around the table, and she sat in the seat directly in front of him. They didn’t talk at all for a long time, apart from the odd request to grab one of the books that the other wasn’t able to reach from their side of the table.

 The need to keep up a façade meant that Tom couldn’t afford even the slightest distraction and, apart from the odd flashes of a lopsided grin or round glasses invading his thoughts, made quick progress.

 “I wish I could write like that.” Greenthorne commented at a point, smiling as she looked from her various bits of parchment (completely filled with notes, paragraph planning and essay structures in her small, neat hand writing) to his single bit of parchment, on which he was currently and quickly writing the cares one should take with slashing movements in general when used in transfiguration, only half a foot left to write in order to complete the assignment.

 “Pardon?”

 “I wish I could write like you do.” She repeated, gesturing to the differences between their work areas “I always need to write down everything I find useful and then plan how I’m going to work with it in the essay. You’re just reading and writing what you read and I’m sure you’ll have perfect marks.”

 “Oh, I don’t know.” He smiled and feigned light embarrassment “There’s no way to be sure”

  _Yes there was. He always had perfect marks._

She smiled slightly but he did not miss the slight eye roll. It immediately made him think of Harry, which, in turn, reminded him of something else he had been extremely curious about.

 “Say,” He began slowly, and this time the emotion in his voice and face was completely genuine – after all, he was _ever so curious_ and even more curious about anything even _vaguely_ related to Harry “I know that you, Harry and the two Prewetts are cousins but… well, apart from the siblings, none of you really look alike.”

 “Oh, well.” She paused for a moment before continuing, much more hesitantly than she had been before. “You know Harry’s a half blood, right?”

 “Of course.” Tom raised an eyebrow and this time he was the one who had to refrain from rolling his eyes. What kind of question even was that? “And even if I hadn’t been made aware of the fact, Evans isn’t exactly a pureblood name.”

 “True.” She conceded, and her skin darkened slightly in a subtle blush as she seemed to realise the redundancy of her question. “Well, he, Ron and Ginny aren’t really blood related, they’re related through me. Our grandfathers, Harry’s and mine that is, were both Evans, Muggles and brothers. My grandfather married another Muggle woman and had my…my mother.”  

 A flash of pain, which served to remind Tom that she had lost both her parents the previous summer. Curbing the very odd mix of intense disgust at her… _sentimentality_ and the abhorring empathy he still hadn’t managed to get rid of, Tom tried to display only the latter as he said, softly “My condolences.”

 Blinking slightly, Greenthorne’s initial response was that of surprise. Why she would be at all surprised that someone would do something as natural as offer condolences after a loss, he couldn’t tell, but before he could follow that train of thought any further she smiled, if still a bit tearfully and he prayed that his answering smile would be perfectly kind and not at all mocking.

 “Anyway, as I was saying, they had my mother who found out she was a witch, and met my father, Oscar Greenthorne, here at Hogwarts. My mother’s family didn’t much like magic, so she left to live with him as soon as they finished their 7th Year. My father’s sister, my aunt Ophelia, married Antioch Prewett and they had Ron and Ginny, which makes them my first cousins on my father’s side. Harry, on the other hand, is the son of my mother’s first cousin, or of my great uncle’s son, I guess? So they’re not really related, but all of them are related to me.”

 Something wasn’t quite right.

 “What about his mother?” Tom asked and congratulated himself on his cunning when, all of a sudden, her posture became all that more reserved. “Harry doesn’t really talk about his family much, and I guess I’m just a bit worried.”

 “Well… we really don’t know much about her.” Greenthorne admitted, and pressed her lips tightly together, eerily reminding him of an older girl in Gryffindor who always wore her hair in a tight bun that he’d run across a few times “All we know was what he told us. He said that his grandparents found him on their doorstep along with a letter, three years after their son mysteriously disappeared with the daughter of a merchant. In that letter, his mother explained that his father had abandoned her when he found out that she was pregnant, and that she didn’t have the means to support him by herself.”

 “Oh.”

 It was all he could manage to say, all the response he could muster because there was a sinking feeling in his stomach and suddenly he wasn’t sure that he _really_ wanted to know. Of course he did, _Don’t be stupid_ , _you can’t pass out on an opportunity like this_ but he didn’t want to hear more, he just _couldn’t handle_ hear more, it was a very familiar tale that still made his heart beat faster with anxiety and always sparked up the small, almost inexistent hope that maybe he could still have a family even though he knew he couldn’t and he found himself short of breath and suddenly bits and pieces of the puzzle came together at least as he recalled _My mother’s family didn’t much like magic_ and no this could not be happening he didn’t want to know more _, Harry can not have gone through this please don’t tell me more!_

 “She only said that his name was Harry James Evans. Harry after his father.” Greenthorne continued, and she seemed so incredibly saddened that Tom felt something in his chest twist painfully and he could guess with certainty what her next words would be

 “And James after _her_ father” Tom whispered and Greenthorne nodded hesitantly and the way she looked at him told him all he needed to know “If you know about my story, why didn’t Harry tell me his?”

  She seemed so incredibly conflicted, biting her lip and looking around before she shook her head that it answered his question without her even speaking a word.

 “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anymore. It’s Harry’s place and I shouldn’t even have said as much as I did, Harry’s going to be furious.”

  _Gryffindors._

 “Of course.” Tom offered a small, unconvincing smile and suddenly got up “I am terribly sorry but it is getting late and I need to visit the Common Room before dinner, if you’ll excuse me.”

 Not waiting to hear her answer, Tom packed up his school work and stationary and almost ran out of the library and if it were any other day he’d be scolding himself for being so uncouth and rushed and _undignified!_ However the thought didn’t even cross his mind, and how could it really when the only thing on his mind was that _he had to get away_ , he didn’t know where, he didn’t know how but he could feel his hands shaking and a suspicious burning in his eyes and he _just had to go somewhere_ _where he could be alone please oh please_ and he didn’t know for how long he walked but he finally reached an empty 7 th Floor corridor that he couldn’t even recall ever having crossed before.

 He dropped his bag and, still shaking, leaned against the cold stone wall.

 It was a mess, everything was a mess, he could not _think_ , he could not _feel_ , he couldn’t not _stop_ his hands from shaking, he _could not breathe_ , all he could do was think about Harry and think about cheerful Harry and his lopsided smile and his passion and just _how lively_ he was and he could not stop thinking of how Harry sometimes flinched when people spoke loudly or how he shied away from sudden touches or how he never sat down facing away from a door if he could help it and _how had he not seen it before?_

 And oh goodness, the nightmares, how he moved and woke up without a sound, how he ate so quickly and so little, how he always seemed to position himself in order to seem as small and unthreatening as possible, how he was always covering up that _scar_!

  _“Besides, I wouldn’t know anything about family, would I, Gin?”_

 Tom closed his eyes tightly together and tried to take deep breaths. It was familiar, it dastardly familiar and he felt rage and despair and pity and bitterness because he couldn’t believe, could not believe that another magical child had to go through what Tom had, could not believe that beautiful Harry, with his understanding smile that could light up a whole room could have gone through something that terrible and remained so unbelievably… _optimistic._

  But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense because Harry wasn’t like anyone Tom had ever met; he was the sun in a snowy day, fallen leaves during spring, utterly and completely bittersweet, full of contradictions; a powerful wizard yet an average student, kind but suspicious. He seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve and yet Tom had _seen_ the calculating glance on his eyes, he’d seen sarcastic quips and sardonic smiles being hidden behind a grin, he’d seen the boy who was always _so cheerful_ wrap and rearrange and become _chilling_ in the blink of an eye, facing down his own kin with no hesitation.

  It made so much sense and Tom narrowed his eyes because now there was _hatred_ cursing through his veins, poisonous hatred towards _anyone that had ever hurt Harry_ , any _disgusting_ Muggle who’d thought themselves better than Harry, who’d thought they were above Harry simply because he was something they didn’t understand. It was hatred and anger and _disgust_ and he could not stop picturing little Harry being punished after some feat of accidental magic, just like he couldn’t stop replaying, over and over his own memories, memories of being called names, of being mocked, of being beaten and attacked simply for being _special._

 And in that moment, he swore that no Muggle would ever again harm a magical child.

 Not if he could help it.

* * *

 

[Family tree is here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4QKmqPyh4l0WG5qTlBBY1l6Q3M/view?usp=sharing) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I included a little family tree I sketched during the summer, i hope it's understandable? lowercase m stands for 'muggle' while M means 'Magical'  
> Now, since I think there are somethings I should state here:  
> Firstly, my Hermione is black. I've written her as black all this time and I will continue to do so, and I will do the same with Harry, since I'm a big fan of the biracial!Harry headcanon. However, as I know that those headcanons are not everyone's cup of tea, and regardless of my opinion on that fact, I will try to keep their descriptions as vague as possible when it comes to their race. I know I feel annoyed when I can't picture my Hermione because the author refers to her skin as "pale" or "creamy" or "light" or whatsoever constantly so. I'll try my best to keep it vague, like JK did.  
> Secondly, although I still think that Voldemort as the Dark Lord cannot be redeemed in any way, I have a lot of sympathy for Tom Riddle before Voldemort, and honestly cant blame him for hating Muggles. I think the genocide part that comes later is completely unexcusable but I genuinely can't find it in myself to hold his hatred agaisnt him.  
> Thirdly, I'd like to emphasize that this is Tom's very subjective POV, which means that not everything he sees or thinks is absolutely correct or is what is actually happening. Don't take his opinions as facts ;)  
> Fourthly, I encourage dialogue about all of these topics and any others that you might feel deserve to be discussed in the comment section and I don't mind private messages either! (this is my way of saying that I don't mind if you want to bitch about anything that i've written, provided it is within reason)


	5. Perilous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom knew there was something Harry wasn’t telling him, something big, likely dangerous and definitely interesting. The desire to just know made him dizzy for he was curious, insanely curious, made his heart beat a little bit faster and his breath come a little quicker, a sudden charge of adrenaline cursing through his veins in the face of such a perilous prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the other day I looked at the date when I started to post this fic and I cried a little bit inside.  
> It's been over an year and I've written a grand total of five chapters....  
> BUT HEY i never said I was good at updating stuff SO! I'm actually pretty proud of myself!  
> Anyway, I'm on holiday again and decided to get this little bugger out of my system. Hope you enjoy, sorry for typos (i can never find them, but i know those jerks are there) and please share your thoughts maybe?

 After the intense, panic motivated epiphany from some days ago, Tom hadn’t seen Harry much.

 This was as much a curse as it was a blessing, if Tom were to be honest with himself. He had no idea why _(liar)_ but he still felt quite shaken, and wasn’t completely sure if he would be able to face Harry with any semblance of lucidity, in order not to make a complete fool of himself. Besides, having Evans as a ‘friend’ (and it was abhorrent how familiar the word started to sound) meant that his social and academic focus was very much monopolised; not only had he failed to discover anything new regarding his heritage this past year, as he also felt out of the loop, so to speak, regarding recent developments in the student body and in the magical world in general.

  _(which was completely unacceptable at a time when the Daily Prophet spent more time covering issues regarding Grindelwald’s reign of terror than anything related to Britain’s state of magical affairs. Dumbledore did_ not _look happy)_

The odd part was that although he wholeheartedly understood the reasons for not being with Harry as often as before, and in all reality, actively enforced this self-isolation, there was still a small part of him that did not like it all - completely hated it, in fact. He missed Harry’s laugh and his companionship and his snarky replies and the odd sense of safety that the smaller boy brought with him. Evans made Tom feel safe, he made him feel worthy, made him feel _whole_.

 And this was something that Tom was _not_ willing to put up with – it was far too sentimental and _emotional_ and he refused to be _dependent_ on some miserable imp, no matter how sweet and funny and generally ~~wonderful~~ despicable.

  _(the truth was that this affection and this multitude of feelings both confused and scared him immensely -  but then again,  Tom and that river in Egypt were pretty close pals and, as such, he quickly decided to completely ignore how he truly felt)_

 Therefore, pros and cons all considered and laid out, Tom had spewed out some nonsense about having to do some extra OWL studies by himself ( _“What? Tom you can’t be serious, you know everything!”)_ and promptly ~~forced~~ told Harry to give him some space for the next few days ( _“Maybe you should get to know the rest of our class, no? It’s more beneficial than just knowing_ me _. And besides, if I did know everything, I’d get perfect scores.”_

_“…Tom?”_

_Sigh. “Yes?”_

_“You do get perfect scores.”_

_Pause. “That’s beside the point. Shoo.”)_

 And it’s not like it had been a complete lie, he reasoned with himself as he quickly skimmed through the fifth book he’d found regarding Hogwarts’ history. So what, he wasn’t actually studying for his OWLs - he could have easily aced those pathetic exams last year _and_ blindfolded on top of that. He was studying something far more important. And he was studying it harder and more fervently than ever before because he had never been so close to figuring it out and after everything he’d found out about Harry’s past, this wasn’t just a little pet project anymore.

 He _needed_ to succeed.

 He had to _know._

\---

 It was the twelfth day of his self-imposed exile and every single part of Tom’s being was _shaking_.

 He’d barely got any sleep the previous night and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal.

 He couldn’t care less.

 (Sleep and food were relative necessities, as far as he was concerned)

 He was _so close_ , he just needed a couple of more days, maybe, just to check up on the little details, just to cross check and then cross check _again_ to make sure that he was right, just a couple more days and _Tom had to literally stop himself from skipping as he walked._

 He was so _giddy_ with excitement, so focused on this new huge achievement, so high on the concept of _discovery_ that he completely shut off from the outside world. He wasn’t watching, or even consciously thinking about where he was going – his feet were merely taking him along a well-known path, his mind a whirlwind of information and thoughts and plans and schemes and _ideas_.

 Or, at least, it was, until that intellectual storm was put to a quick end as he ran headfirst into a warm, small obstacle standing in his way

 Blinking quickly, Tom felt his mind clear. Even though his heart was still beating much faster than usual, the previous lightheaded enthusiasm was fading as a sense of displacement occupied his place. After so much time spent in his own mind, being suddenly forced to reacquaint himself with the outside world was always rather confusing.

 Feeling much calmer and more in control than he had felt _in weeks_ , Tom finally decided to pay attention to what had disrupted his train _(rollercoaster)_ of thought.

 All it took was a quick glance and the recently acquired control jumped out of the nearest window as fast as it had arrived.

 Mortified, with a very suspicious heat taking over his cheeks and a stomach that had suddenly decided to become a professional acrobat, Tom felt a sort of hysterical laugh try to bubble out of his mouth and he absentmindedly thought that maybe he should jump out of that window as well.

 “Well that wasn’t exactly how I’d thought I’d get you to pay attention to me, but oh well, beggars can’t be choosers, right?” And that despicably brilliant grin that had recently started to make Tom’s legs feel weak.

 His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

 “Harry?”

 “Who else?” The imp winked and grabbed him by the elbow, starting to walk and steering Tom in the direction opposite to the library, to which he was initially headed “I have to admit, when you told me that crap about studying I thought you were just going to ditch me to meet up with some girl, but I guess you really _were_ studying, who’d have thought? Nevermind that though, it’s about time you get some rest! You’ve been studying nonstop for _two weeks_ and the weather is actually pretty decent by December standards! Actually I think someone may have messed with the weather, you know, it’s _way_ too warm for December in the Highlands –“

 “The Daily Prophet said that this magical war was having side effects on the weather.” Tom supplied automatically, too busy trying to process everything Harry had just spewed to actually think about what he was saying. ‘Get you to pay attention to me’? ‘Ditch me to meet up with some girl’? ‘Get some rest’?

  _Some girl?_

 Ignorant to the confusion fuelled inner conflict raging right next to him, Harry nodded approvingly as he stopped their motion towards to grounds. He continued on his babbling as he took two silver and green scarves from _somewhere_ inside of his robes.

 “Yes, I thought that might be it! I mean sure, it’s not exactly warm, but I’ve been outside often enough and I haven’t had to cut off any frozen appendages yet so I guessed something must be amiss!” Tom could only watch, gaping slightly, as Harry wrapped him in Tom’s own scarf, too caught up in _what the hell is going on_ to even consider _how_ the green eyed boy might have got his scarf

 ‘Some girl’. Really, Harry?

 “What are you doing?”

 By the time Tom’s mind finally caught up with what had just happened (and it was _normal_ , okay, he’d been on a completely different wave length and Harry had caught him off guard) and forced his mouth to cooperate, they were already walking through the grounds, scarves, mittens and the complete outfit.

_(Tom was still trying to figure out how, why and when Harry had managed to collect and conceal all of his winter paraphernalia but that wasn’t the most pressing issue at the moment, so he let it slide._

_For now.)_

 The snow seemed to have fallen recently, and the grounds looked unbelievably bright. There were some other students scattered around, braving through the (admittedly rather moderate as far as the Highlands went) cold weather and Harry’s eyes had never seemed quite so bright.

 “Huh?”

 “What are you doing?” Tom repeated, feeling increasingly confused and, quite honestly, slightly troubled “Why did you bring me here? Why were you worried about whether or not I got some rest? It hasn’t been that long anyway, I’m perfectly rested, I could continue with this rhythm for weeks - “

 “It’s been _twelve days_.” Harry deadpanned “Nearly two weeks, Tom, and you have barely slept, let alone had a proper meal. Believe me, you _need_ some rest and if _you_ can’t see that, then it is my official duty as a Friend (with a capital ‘F’!) to force you.” Smiling slightly at what Tom was sure was plain bewilderment, spread clearly across his face, Harry continued, a bit quieter this time “Besides, I did kinda miss you, you git.”

 The red in Tom’s cheeks just _had_ to clash awfully with the deep green of his scarf.

\----

 That had probably been one of the best afternoons of Tom’s life.

 That small part of him that had rebelled against the notion of keeping Harry at a distance was, and had been all throughout the afternoon, _squeaking_ victoriously (and although Tom never thought he would apply that particular verb in relation to himself, it was the best description he could find). In fact, after he and Harry gave up their useless fight against the (now) frigid cold and decided to huddle for warmth as they walked to the dungeons, the same small part of him was just about _bursting_ with delight.

 Tom’s chest felt warm, his cheeks hurt from smiling so much and maybe, just maybe, he could admit to himself that the cold was probably not the only reason he was blushing so hard.

\----

 After taking a warm shower and getting dressed once again, Tom left his dormitory. Harry was already waiting for him and, after a snickering about how much ‘of a girl’ Tom was for taking so long getting ready, they went together to the Great Hall, just in time for dinner.

 “What’s wrong with taking a bit longer?” Tom asked, eyebrows raised, as they walked “It just means that I’m concerned with the way I look and don’t want to run around looking silly. It’s not like you can fault any girl who chooses to do that, either – but then again, I guess it might be hard to understand for someone who doesn’t even brush their hair in the morning.”

 Harry’s cheeks darkened considerably as Tom pointedly looked at the shorter (by “like, 3 inches!” as Harry liked to whine) boy’s hair.

 “I take offense to that!” Tom rolled his eyes at Harry’s mockingly indignant tone “I’ll have you know I _do_ brush it! It’s not my fault my hair has a life of its own!”

 “Hmm I apologize but I don’t quite believe you.” Shaking his head as if disappointed, as if he wasn’t a witness to Harry’s daily struggle with his wild curls, the Prefect tried to contain his grin at the wide green eyes staring at him “Lying is not a very nice thing to do, Harry.”

 They were crossing the doors to the Great Hall and, in any other time, the sudden noise produced by a mass of congregated children and teenagers might have been enough to distract him from any previously ongoing conversation.

 However, this was _Harry._ Harry, whom Tom couldn’t stop thinking about, whom Tom watched for hours and hours a day, whom Tom was starting to get closer and closer to with every passing week. It was _Harry_ , who had managed to completely _captivate_ him in a way none other ever had.

 It was Harry with every single one of his quirks and odd habits and snide comments and Tom was nothing if not observant.

  “Then why do you do it, Riddle?” had been mumbled with a sort of quiet sadness, a quick glance at the Gryffindor table, a slight darkening of lively green eyes that suddenly seemed aged beyond their tender age of fifteen.

 Had it been anyone else, Tom would probably not have heard.

 Had it been anyone else, Tom would have been instantly on his guard

  _(for that had not been the whisper of a friend, had not been the whisper of a lover, it had not even been the cruel hiss of a snake just before striking; it had been the weary sigh of a wise elder who knew far too much and knowledge was something the young wizard had found to be extremely valuable)_

 But it _wasn’t_ anyone else, it was Harry.

 And although it was incredibly suspicious and made him quite a bit uneasy, it was also a bit…exhilarating?

 There was something _odd_ about Harry, Tom knew. Something more to his past, something other than the hurt he had suffered at the hands of those _monsters_ he had been forced to consider relatives.

 It was something _aged_ , something _bitter,_ something _cunning_ , that spoke of horrors that had gone and more to come. That spoke of experience, that _buzzed_ around in the air with a sort of electricity, contained in its chaos and enrolled in its mystery, invisible to eye but not to the senses of those who tried to find what was beyond the controlled exterior.

 Tom _knew_ what it felt like to hide a chaotic nature behind a cool façade. And people like Dumbledore (who wanted too much, who dreamed too much, who _dabbled_ too much) knew as well. They were all well acquainted with the effort and the experience, and found it easy to spot those who were alike.

 Tom knew there was something Harry wasn’t telling him, something _big_ , likely dangerous and _definitely_ interesting. The desire to just _know_ made him dizzy for he was curious, _insanely_ curious, made his heart beat a little bit faster and his breath come a little quicker, a sudden charge of adrenaline cursing through his veins in the face of such a perilous prospect.

 He sat down at his House Table in front of Harry, and watched the younger boy immediately strike a conversation with Dorea Black.

 As a Slytherin, he had never been too fond of playing with fire.

 But, smirking to himself, he thought that maybe it wouldn’t hurt trying his hand at it…

 … _just this once_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst, did you see that? "the river in Egypt"? that's me trying to be clever, haha


	6. Smitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He absentmindedly realised that he would much rather be hugging Evans close to him, rather than a mere pillow. Being on the verge of blissful sleep, the thought didn’t evoke embarrassment or denial, and, instead, the mental image of Tom and Harry hugging was quickly brought to the forefront of Tom’s mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, finally beat school and mononucleosis' ass and I'm back, alive and kicking!  
> Seriously hope you guys like this chapter cause I know I do (although the end might be a bit rushed cause well I am in a bit of a rush right now, so SORRY FOR TYPOS IM SO SORRY) and I get all smiley whenever I read it and think about what comes next!!  
> Notes at the end, but for now: enjoy and please let me know what you think!

 Tom was poor.

 There was no going around it; Tom was poor, had been all his life and would continue to be for quite a while. He lived in an orphanage, he bought second hand clothes and books with Hogwarts’ funding and he did not own any pets because he would never be able to afford them, to feed or to take care of them, especially during the summer. Before discovering he was a wizard, the only times he’d been allowed the luxuries of a full plate at dinner had been on Christmas – and not every year, mind you, because 1929 had been a difficult year and as the half baked bread and soup had stretched the orphanage’s budget thin as it was.

 So, he was poor. It wasn’t something that he particularly enjoyed and it certainly wasn’t something that he liked to broadcast to the world around him (which had been why he had learnt to spell his robes into looking, if not new, at least not as worn down), particularly due to the fact that the world around him tended to associate money with power; thus, a person without money was seen as a person without power – a connotation Tom despised.

 However, as despicable and revolting as the whole situation was, there _were_ some perks, he supposed.

 For example, watching the usually confident Abraxas Malfoy stuttering through attempting to downplay the luxuries and excesses of the Yule celebrations that awaited him at Malfoy Manor was certainly amusing.

 “The menu won’t be too different from what we eat here at Hogwarts.” Abraxas had modestly started with, gesticulating to the rest of the Slytherin table and the variety of food displayed “Apart from the specifics, of course. From the 21st onward, there’ll be only pork and turkey. Father has actually ordered the finest meat, much better than anything _Hogwarts_ could _ever_ serve – uh, although I’m sure the meals here are always delightful.” He quickly added, with a nervous glance towards Tom.

 It was a ritual that repeated itself every year – Abraxas was a sly, smart (quite tolerable) boy, prudent and witty, and surprisingly much less stuffy or boring than most purebloods Tom had the displeasure of knowing. He supposed he didn’t _dislike_ Abraxas – which was already more than he could say about most of his school mates.

  _(except for Harry, of course)_

 Abraxas also possessed one marvellous characteristic, shared by all the members of the small group Tom tended to associate himself with.

 They were all perfectly aware of who he was and what he could do. They knew what he planned and they were all appropriately wary – _but they were not scared and they did not cower before him._ And Abraxas, proud Abraxas, who had been brought up to believe that he was the best thing bestowed upon the Earth and ought to never kneel before any other, and who had been quickly taught otherwise by Tom himself, tended to excel at this (not so) simple task, as he tended to do at most other tasks as well.

 Abraxas was an excellent speaker and an excellent liar. He never mumbled, never hesitated, seemed to be in a state of permanent ease and control of his speech.

  _Except_ when Tom was anywhere near the vicinity any time the Malfoy heir started talking about his life and about his riches.

 Abraxas got _embarrassed_ and that was always far too amusing _not_ to watch.

 “I hope your parents have harvested a good log for burning.” Commented Romulus Rosier offhandedly, not taking his eyes off of the books he was reading.

 “Of course!” The blond promptly answered, all pride and pomp and heritage “An Oak log, as tradition mandates, and harvested in our family estate in Normandy. It would be silly to use a log of British origin at the very seasonal holiday that celebrates one’s roots! Father has always made sure to keep me aware and proud of our family’s roots, as any proper wizard should –“ Freezing abruptly, he quickly continued, cheeks just a tinge pinker “B-but there’s no shame in _not_ knowing one’s roots of course! Much more honourable to make one’s own!”

 Dorea Black, a few seats down, snickered.

 “What about cookies, Abraxas?” Little Alphard Black piped in excitedly, grey eyes wide open

 “More cookies than you’ve ever set your little eyes on, Alphy!” The Malfoy heir loudly proclaimed, dramatically pointing at the youngest Black. He smirked smugly at the expression of pure amazement in the first year’s face, and continued, gesticulating wildly and even standing up from his chair, as his enthusiasm increased “There’ll be cookies with macadamia nuts imported straight from Hawaii, and _certainly_ pine nuts from the Mediterranean!”

 “Cookies with caramelized fruit and cakes soaked in the finest British and French ciders! Wassail made with the sweetest honey the Americas could ever provide! The most _exceptional ginger tea you will EVER taste!!_ _The most EXQUISITE SPICED CIDER! AND! NEVER FORGET THE GREATEST, SUPERB, UNFORGETABLE, MOST EXPENSIVE –“_ Victorious stance, arms spread; eyes bright, open wide in amazement and shining with pride, focused on Tom and at once opened even wider. Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Abraxas quickly sat down and mumbled, rather lamely “and rather average eggnog you’ll ever taste.”

 Tom briefly wondered if one could asphyxiate from desperately trying to hold in laughter. Avery, sitting across from him, certainly seemed to be giving his very best to prove this theory, if his puffed, darkening cheeks, tearful eyes and silently shaking shoulders were anything to go by.

  “How did we even _start_ this conversation?” Romulus wondered under his breath, making Avery burst into a fit of small, hiccupped giggles while Abraxas moodily stared at the table, with a very pronounced, very petulant pout (which the Malfoy heir would, later, be sure to deny)

 Clearing his throat, Tom looked away from the small gaggle of Slytherin’s at the breakfast table, trying to hide his small grin as he heard Cygnus Black’s mocking quips and Dorea’s sardonic remarks continuing to be aimed at Abraxas.

 All in all, a fairly common Sunday morning.

 Looking the other way, however, meant looking at the Gryffindor table, right away across the Great Hall. And it took no time at all for his distracted, although well trained, glance to find that lovable black mop of messy hair, rested atop bright green eyes, which Tom could effortlessly spot without a single conscious thought. Harry’s glasses, perched on top of his cute button nose, were slightly askew, as the imp continued to laugh at whatever joke his red headed cousin has said. It was impossible to hear it clearly all the way across the Hall, but, then again, there was no need, for Tom had heard that laugh often enough that he could just about detect all its hidden nuances and pitches from a distance. Could just about guess Harry’s pitch as he threw his head back, eyes closed in mirth, or the adorable way his mouth twitched after a fit of giggles, trying to hold it all in; could just about feel the warm, phantom touch of Harry’s hand, holding on for balance after a particular intense fit of laughter, or his lovable, flushed cheeks as he glanced around, still snickering every now and again, pushing his glasses back up his nose…

 Tom sighed fondly, with what he was sure was the tenderest smile his lips had ever formed.

 And then he promptly realised what he had been doing, _in public on top of that_ , and, after a few seconds of pure mortification, felt his face heat up and quickly diverted his eyes back to his half eaten breakfast.

 It had become almost a routine by now, a ritual that he had started to practice with increasing, and somewhat worrying, frequency. He would behave in some ridiculous, embarrassingly pathetic way, as he had just done, with odd surges of feelings he had never felt before, and quite honestly, had no desire to feel again.

  _Liar. The warmth in his chest made him feel alive and Harry’s smile made the world brighter, just that bit more bearable._

And then, as soon as he was back in his proper state of mind, he would devote the following minutes to an intense round of self-chastening, while attempting to ride out the embarrassment and subtly detect if anyone had testified his temporary lapses of judgement. So far, no one had – no one but Harry himself.

 That night, after the argument with Prewett, still made Tom’s mouth dry every time he thought back on it; made his breath quicken, his heart beat faster, his blood boil in an entirely new way. The memory of Harry’s voice, smooth and cold like glass, of his bright, stormy eyes, mixed enticingly with his soft breath, the half lidded way he’d glanced at Tom – it made the Slytherin Prefect want to slam the other boy against the stone wall and, and…

 And, well. Tom blinked, eyes unseeing of what was really in front of him, breath shallow as he, for the first time, allowed himself to honestly think about what he had desired to do that night – and there was no question that ‘desire’ was the correct term.

 He’d wanted to slam Harry against the stone wall of that abandoned corridor – abandoned, empty, _dark_. He’d wanted to feel his body pressed against Harry’s, feel their breaths mingling together as their lips touched, hot and flushed and clumsy and desperate, had wanted to pull Harry against him, feel that alluring lean body against his own, hear Harry’s teasing, breathy laugh as the imp bit his lip, eyes alight with mischief and desire and pure unadulterated want and _goodness gracious that was not the sort of thing he should be thinking about in the middle of breakfast._

His face was red, he was sure. Full blown tomato red.

 This was not happening.

 Could not be happening.

 Trying to focus on anything, reaching out for literally _anything_ that would get his mind out of the very literal, very graphic, very _vivid and entirely too tempting_ gutter, Tom focused on the world around of him. Noise, chatter and the clicking of cutlery and owls’ hooting, came flooding back in, the hums of human presence and human interaction in the air. Varied smells, a slight chill from the draft coming from the open windows and the eerie, prickling sensation that he was being watched.

 He quickly looked up. There was little doubt in his mind as to what he would find and yet the sudden shock of bright green still threw him off. Unable to force his gaze somewhere else, Tom faintly felt his poor stomach start its acrobatic choreography as Harry smiled, grinned and rolled his eyes at him, all the while with that fond had tilt, looking straight at Tom. The Slytherin felt his lips curve in a small, answering smile and for a moment it felt like there was no one else in the Great Hall but Harry, Harry with his little quirks and meaningful glances, nothing but Harry and Tom and whatever the hell had started to grow between the two.

The day was a slow one. As Abraxas’ constant chattering was prone to show, Yule holidays were approaching and the students’ will to do much of anything at all was rapidly decreasing. The library was mostly empty, the Great Hall perpetually occupied and the Common Rooms were not only absolutely full, as they were absolutely unbearable. Tom lasted a great total of half an hour in the cacophony, sitting at what was usually his favourite _quiet_ place to read, before concluding that murdering the obnoxious second years standing _far too close_ was _not_ a viable course of action, despite how tempting it was.

 Instead of heading off to the library, as he usually would, his feet took him directly to the dormitories’ entrance. If there was anything that felt better than falling face first into a warm, comfortable bed, Tom had yet to discover it.

  _Although_ , a small voice inside of him said, teasingly, _I’m sure that Evans might just be up to the challenge._

 Tom slammed his head against his pillow and groaned in despair. Feeling the heat pooling in his cheeks and in other parts of his anatomy that he would rather not think about much, he mumbled:

 “He’ll be the death of me.”

  _I’m sure there are worse ways to die._

 His eyelids felt heavy. Lazily reaching into his robe’s pocket, Tom grabbed his wand and, with a wordless spell he wasn’t supposed to be able to pull off yet, closed the curtains around his bed. He strongly disliked naps, on principle, but there was not much else to do…and the bed was so warm…

 He absentmindedly realised that he would much rather be hugging Evans close to him, rather than a mere pillow. Being on the verge of blissful sleep, the thought didn’t evoke embarrassment or denial, and, instead, the mental image of Tom and Harry hugging was quickly brought to the forefront of Tom’s mind. Humming in contentment, he could almost feel the scent of Harry’s shampoo, could almost feel his warmth and the way his skin would under his wandering hands, could feel their warm breaths mingling…

 There was a sudden noise and his eyes immediately flew open. Feeling all of his muscles tense up, he did his best to remain still and even out his breathing, trying to listen to his surroundings and figure out the best course of action, should there be trouble. He had no idea what he expected, but muffled cursing wasn’t exactly it.

 Slightly bemused, Tom slowly got up, trying to make as little noise as possible. Quickly blinking to adjust to the darkness (slightly annoyed at Scottish Decembers, since those meant that he could’ve slept five minutes or five hours and wouldn’t find out so soon), he peaked through the curtains, curiosity getting the best of him.

 And, standing at the end of the bed across from Tom’s, light coming out of the tip of his wand, clutching his foot and with a myriad of _things_ spread out around him, was the _only_ person would would’ve come to the empty dormitory while Tom was asleep.

 “Harry?” It was more of a wondering out loud thing, to be honest, he hadn’t really _meant_ to speak out loud, not while he was still trying to figure out whether or not this was a dream and, if so, how exactly did he want it to play out. His voice sounded rough and raspy and he hated how stupid it sounded and did _not_ want Harry to hear it.

 The cursing immediately ceased. Evans turned around slowly, wand still in hand, bright and almost blinding and Tom had to narrow his eyes in order to be able to see Harry biting his lip with a pained expression.

 “Damn, sorry. I didn’t mean to-“The other boy stammered before looking at Tom’s scrunched up face, at his own wand, and quickly dimmed the light. It was now just bright enough that they could distinguish each other’s shapes and it seemed so _intimate_. Tom felt suddenly restless “Sorry.” Harry repeated, his voice slightly lower “I didn’t mean to wake you up, I was _trying_ not to wake you up.”

 Tom opened his mouth and closed it again, finding himself thankful for the surrounding darkness and how it concealed him, how it concealed his shock and the way his hands shook slightly and the tender curve of his lips, as his heart beat so loud it seemed impossible that Harry wouldn’t hear it, Harry who actually _cared_ , Harry with his kind eyes and soft touches.

  _Harry_.

 “Yeah?” The question sounded confused, and Tom was equally confused before he realized he might’ve said that last bit out loud.

 “What are you doing here? What time is it?” He quickly continued. “It should be enough to cover it up, right?”

 “Oh. Well it’s dinnertime and, uh, I didn’t feel like eating in the Great Hall, so I just went down to the kitchens to grab a bite. I wanted to grab my cloak and eat in the astronomy tower but I noticed you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you but _then_ I hit my foot-“

 “Why didn’t you want to eat in the Great Hall?”

 The following silence made Tom narrow his eyes.

 “Did you have another fight with your family?”

 “I was just not very hungry and kind of tired-”

 “ _Harry._ ”

 “…maybe.”

 Silence.

 Tom was searching for something to say, something that would break that damned silence. Quiet was never something that just _happened_ between Harry and him, there would always be another thought, another remark, another teasing quip that would keep the conversation flowing and growing and _interesting_ \- but the silence was _awkward_ and cold and Tom raked his mind for things to say but he could only think of how _angry_ he was, at those three who dared call themselves family and yet brought harm to the boy that was the most amazing person in the world.

 “I should go.” Harry said and it was quiet and small and Tom felt something in himself twist painfully

 “Stay.”

 His mouth felt dry. He tried to lick his lips but the dryness wasn’t going away. The only sound in the room was the blood pumping in his veins and he clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking too much.

 He opened his mouth, and formed the word but no sound came out. He swallowed, and tried again and flinched at how his voice failed at the end.

 “Please.”

 Another beat of silence.

 He heard more than saw Harry moving and when he felt a warm weight colliding against him, his arms immediately rose and as he clutched the other tighter, he pondered at how natural the gesture felt, as if he had been doing it his whole life, as if he had meant to do it his whole life. Harry’s hair tickled his nose but they were almost the same height and so Tom rested his chin in Harry’s shoulder and tried not to be too obvious as he took in his scent, bittersweet, just like him.

 He didn’t know how long they stood like that, he didn’t know for how long their hearts beat as one, for how long he felt the dampness of tears on the side of his neck or the soft spasms of quiet sobs, the murmurs spoken against cloth ( _“this is too much, I don’t, I can’t, this is too much, how can they, say, how”_ ). It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, but then Harry sniffled at lowered his arms and Tom followed suit. His hand found Harry’s and he pulled the other boy towards his own bed.

 Harry sat down and Tom lit two candles that were magically kept floating around his bed. Handing Harry a handkerchief he found hastily tucked into one of his bedside drawers, Tom went to pick up the package Harry had brought from the kitchens.

 He sad down next to Harry, and pulled the curtains around his bed until there was only a small opening, so that Harry didn’t feel trapped or too crowded. He spread the contents of the small package, all of them in their own little packages, across his bedspread and felt his eyebrows rise.

 “This is a lot of food for someone who isn’t that hungry.”

 Harry laughed and it was quiet and fragile but it was a laugh and Tom smiled

 “Well I might’ve brought something for you too, just in case you slept through dinner.” And then, teasingly “Wouldn’t want my favourite prefect getting caught sneaking into the kitchens just because he decided to take a _nap_.”

 Tom playfully shoved him and Harry’s laugh was louder this time and when the green eyed boy looked back at him, Tom felt his heart skip a beat –

 He could almost swear he saw more than mere fondness in that gaze this time.

* * *

 After they finished eating, Harry sneaked through the curtains to get into his pyjamas, and to give Tom some privacy to do the same. The muffled noise coming from downstairs was enough for him to deduce that the students were coming back from dinner and _other people_ brought a bout of _fear_ , that the moment was over, that Harry would want to go to the Common Room and get away from him.

 But Harry was back and he asked if he could close the curtains completely and Tom felt slightly weak as he said yes.

 On the edge of sleep, he concluded that yes: hugging Evans felt much better than _any_ pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st: is it too soon? I don't think it's too soon and the are-we-are-we-not will probs drag out for at least another chapter but? is it too quick, what do you think?  
> 2nd: i feel like i refer to Harry's eyes too often, as in 'the green eyed boy' and what not but I'm seriosly at a loss for alternatives! Thoughts and suggestions perhaps?


	7. Crushing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This was weakness! This was what he feared, more than almost everything else, what brought him close to pure panic. This was what he promised to never become, why he shunned love and friendship and closeness – or at least he had.  
> Before Harry came. Before he teared it all apart, with a simple smile. Before Tom went and got attached and…and…and got a crush."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. please don't kill me? I've had this chapter half written for months, but I guess I severely underestimated the amount of free time I could expect from the first semester of uni. Just finished my exams and so finally had the time to continue this :')  
> I was going to make it a longer chapter but I kind of think you guys already waited more than enough!  
> Once again, I'm truly sorry and I hope you enjoy!

 On that night, the first time Tom woke up was before sunrise. Not that he noticed _that_ , of course –in a few hours, he wouldn’t even be sure if he had awaken or not. It was that sort of quick flash of consciousness in which one was still half way dreaming and blatantly incoherent. So Tom, profoundly confused and more than a little sleepy, had a second to consider how comfortable and warm and _breathing_ his pillow was, before he hugged it more tightly and promptly fell asleep once again.

 And then, he was walking.

 It wasn’t a gradual transition. Suddenly his legs were moving, below him, almost as if by themselves. They were following a yearning he didn’t know he had, a sort of _pull_ and although he didn’t know where he was going, he knew it was important.

 It was the most important task of his life.

 He was walking along a well-lit path, full of people. People dressed in the oddest of ways, running all around him. They paid him no mind. That infuriated him and this reaction, in turn, confused him – confused a small, muddled part of him, blurry and frayed at the edges.

 He felt like he was moving through murky waters.

 There was a slight ringing in his ears.

 Breathing felt weird.

 He was taller.

 His vision shadowed at the edges.

 It was so cold.

 It was a house.

 A house?

 Yes, a house. He stopped right in front of it. It had a small fence around it. It seemed to _glimmer_ , for a second. Like a spell.

 The glimmer faded.

 He opened the gate.

 The hand he saw was not his own.

 He kept walking.

 Light spilled through the thick curtains that covered the window closest to the door. There was movement, shadows walking around the room – people. He didn’t know who they were, but he despised them.

 He got to the door, and hesitated. He could feel elation cursing through his veins, he felt excited – but it was a detached excitement, gleeful and malicious and slightly foreign and Tom was confused.

 He heard muffled noises, and with a wave of his wand, opened the door.

 The noise became clearer.

 Voices.

 One in particular was getting louder, as its owner approached the small hallway the door opened to.

 He advanced, and a man appeared on the other side of the hallway.

 His wide, daring grin immediately froze. Dark eyes widened behind his glasses. Time seemed to slow down.

 It only lasted a second.

 _Lily,_ The sound suddenly seemed stifled, far away. _take Harry and go!_

 The man continued to yell.

 Tom felt his lips stretch in a smile as he raised his own wand in a stranger’s hand.

 A flash of green light.

 And Tom woke up with a gasp.

 He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, all the while staring right ahead into the comforting dark green of the curtains that surrounded his bed. His skin felt clammy with sweat and his movements were jerky – he raised his hand

_(soft and slightly pinkish, pale but not deathly white, nails trimmed and entirely human)_

 and noticed how it was shaking ever so slightly. His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears, but, painstakingly slowly, it started to fade out. Still panting slightly, he focused on Harry’s slow, steady breathing and thought of nothing else until the tremors subsided and he got his body under control once again.

 Only then did he allow himself to sigh wearily and to curl up, holding his knees close to himself. He closed his eyes, and felt a twinge of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

 Tom tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about.

 First things first: it’d definitely been a nightmare.

 Nightmares weren’t that uncommon for him. In fact, he was quite used to them – used to the ghosts of the past, ghosts of his times at the orphanage, ghosts of the mother who had died before meeting him, of the father who probably didn’t even know (or didn’t _want_ to know) he existed. In those dreams, reality took a darker shade; although he wasn’t sure what his father looked like, he’d often dream of a tall shadow with a cruel sneer who would proudly denounce him as a son, who would mock his features ( _you look weird, or so had the other children said_ ), his quiet nature ( _what a freak, said the kids, it’s unnatural, whispered the caretakers_ ), his _helplessness_ and how purely _worthless_ he’d been back in that cursed orphanage.

 He set his jaw, pressing his forehead against his forearms.

 He was used to nightmares.

 But he’d never had a nightmare like this.

 It was actually foolish. Why was he so worked up over a single bad dream, and one he could barely recall at that. But there was _something_ – something he should remember, something he knew was important but…what was it? A name? Maybe, but _god damn it he couldn’t figure it out!_

 He felt tense – he _was_ tense. There was a profound sense of unease that he simply couldn’t shake off, and the longer he spent dwelling on this strange dream, the worse it got. It tightened in his chest and wouldn’t budge, and he felt a cold knot in stomach – he was _missing_ something, but _what_?

 Harry mumbled something besides him and it was _that_ \- the reminder of the company rather than any actual words – which gave him pause and allowed him to escape from the vicious cycle of obsessive and irrational fear he was, no doubt, about to enter.

 He turned to look at his, well, at his _bedmate_ , and what he saw made an entirely different sort of knot curl up in his chest.

 Harry was curled up in the covers, feet uncovered and legs held close to his chest. Mouth open, and hair spread out on his pillow and surrounding his head in an unholy, disorganized halo. Eyes closed – and Tom had never really seen him without his glasses and it was _weird_ but it was also _not weird_. It wasn’t that he looked bad, per say. It was just…

 Harry looked older without his glasses. More mature and especially more burdened. Almost as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 It wasn’t a pleasant look. It wasn’t a _peaceful_ look.

 Without thinking, Tom laid down again on his back, and then turned on his side so he was facing Harry. He propped himself up on an elbow and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, reached out and softly brushed Harry’s hair away from his eyes.

 The urge and motion came so suddenly and naturally that he had to take a moment to realise that _softly brushing hair out of Harry’s eyes_ was not something he was accustomed to doing and that was, in fact, because it was something he _had never_ done. Ever. In his (almost) sixteen years of life.

 (Fantasising didn’t count)

 Tom _knew_ he was blushing and that was due to the simple fact that he _did_ feel embarrassed. Embarrassed by the casual display of affection, by the mere fact he had even _wanted_ to do it, that it had felt _nice_ . He felt embarrassed and self-conscious and _ashamed._

 He tried to deny it but how _could he_ ? He’d wanted to touch Harry’s hair, and, to be quite honest, he hadn’t want to stop. He _wanted_ to touch Harry’s hair, wanted to hold the other boy close.

 That night after the fight with Prewett – that hadn’t been a fluke. And the day they spent out in the snow hadn’t either. Tom had wanted, no, he _still wanted_ to shove Harry against a wall and snog him until the shorter boy forgot his own name. He wanted to huddle close to him like they’d done on that snow day, except that he didn’t want to do it for _warmth_ . He wanted to be able to hold the other boy close, and to feel their breaths mingling and to touch his hair and watch as Harry nearly _purred_ , like an oversized cat.

 He wanted to kiss Harry.

 He couldn’t stop thinking about Harry.

 He got flustered around Harry.

 The evidence was all there, and there was no point ignoring it any longer, was there? It was so _blatantly obvious_ , how could he continue to pretend he didn’t know what was going on? How could he pretend that he didn’t, that he wasn’t –

 He couldn’t do it.

 Tom turned his back to Harry and closed his eyes tightly, willing and nearly begging sleep to claim him once again. He felt a suspicious burning in his eyes and tried to stifle the sob that he felt clenched in his throat.

 _This_ was weakness! _This_ was what he feared, more than almost anything else, what brought him close to pure _panic_ . _This_ was what he promised to never become, why he shunned _love_ and friendship and closeness – or at least he had.

 Before Harry came. Before he teared it all apart, with a simple smile. Before Tom went and got _attached_ and…and…and got a _crush_.

 His heart hammered in his chest, pure panic making his breaths come short.

 He just wanted to fall asleep before he fell apart.

 -

 The third time Tom woke up was to an empty bed.

 He hadn’t noticed it at first, detachedly wondering why he felt so well rested after what had been, objectively, _not_ a good night’s sleep – what had actually been, in fact, a rather restless night. Which lead him to think that perhaps the _company_ had helped; maybe he felt more relaxed with Harry, thanks to his _feelings_ _(and it was with no small amount of derision and pure dread that he even thought the word)_ and that had resulted in a deeper and more soothing sleep.

 Which was when he noticed that he was, at the moment, devoid of company.

 He had a second of feeling decidedly confused – he was quite sure he remembered falling asleep with Harry, and waking up next to him after that bloody dream. In fact, the sheets were mussed, exactly as if they would be had someone _slept in them_. The curtains weren’t closed anymore, like he distinctly remembered them being; as if someone had left the bed and seen fit to leave them open, seeing as all the other boys in the dorm had left to spend the Yule holidays at home that very morning.

 Which meant that Harry _had_ been there. And Harry had _left._

 It was when he reached that conclusion that a type of fear he had never before experienced gripped him. Off handily thinking that these sorts of emotional rollercoasters were _exactly_ why he didn’t do feelings, Tom tried to focus on his breathing, which had become a surprisingly hard feat to accomplish thanks to the increasing pressure that was making itself known on his chest.

 Anxiety _was not_ a fun thing.

 And then Harry stepped out of the showers into their dorm once again, a mere towel wrapped around his waist, hair still damp from the showers.

 Breathing became a difficult task for an _entirely_ different reason.

 “Oh, good morning!” Harry smiled and Tom found himself thanking Salazar for small favours. Between his state of undress and that _smile_ , Harry was a force to be reckoned with, and Tom was perfectly aware that had he not been sitting down, his knees would’ve probably failed him.

 “Good morning” He felt himself answer in a slightly raspy voice, and tried to ignore Harry’s knowing smirk as Tom cleared his throat and willed himself not to blush. Harry moved towards his own trunk, probably to retrieve some clothing. “What time is it?”

 “Uh, around half past eleven?” Harry shrugged with one shoulder at Tom’s surprised eyes, as he rummaged through his trunk “I thought about waking you up earlier, but you seemed so peaceful! I couldn’t bear it.”

 Harry had delivered that last bit with a _smile_ , with a ridiculously _tender_ smile that wrinkled the skin around his eyes and damn it all to hell, sitting down or not, Tom could feel himself swoon.

 “So,” Tom frantically thought of something, _anything_ , to say but the only think that came out was: “Did you sleep well?”

 He felt himself flinch at the acknowledgement of the fact that they’d shared a bed, that they’d _slept together,_ and fought the impulse to nibble on his lip. Not only was it a disgusting habit he was trying to outgrown, but also a clear disadvantage that would easily reveal his nervousness even to the most unobservant of foes.

 Not that Harry was either – unobservant or a foe.

 The spectacled boy blinked at his question, seemingly forgetting that he was still pretty much naked. And then Harry _blushed_ – his cheeks darkened, his ears, his neck, his shoulders even – and ducked his head, seemingly sporting a slight smile. It was such a clear show of shyness, such a blatant and _uncharacteristic_ shyness and Tom didn’t know if it was because of the novelty of the expression or how endearing it was, but the Prefect found himself drinking in the sight avidly, trying to commit it to memory even as Harry stuttered through a response.

 “Y-yeah, I guess...I mean not ‘guess’, I _really_ slept well, rather brilliantly actually but you know, er…”

 “I think I get it.” Tom didn’t bother to contain his grin. Even if he had bothered, he probably wouldn’t succeed

 “Er, right.” Harry cleared his throat, and, after a moment of silence, seemed to _finally_ realize how much of him was barely covered by a single towel. His eyes widened comically, and Tom decided to take pity on him

 “I’m going to take a shower. It’s already lunchtime, so you if you want you can just head down to the Great Hall, no need to wait for me.”

 _All the need to wait for me. You_ have _to wait for me._

 Tom tried to make quick work of showering and refreshing, brushing his teeth in record speed as he combed through his hair and finished fastening the buttons in his shirt.

 He cursed his newfound need to be courteous.

 Of _course_ he wanted Harry to wait for him, why on Earth had he said Harry could go to breakfast without him? Stupid! And now if he took too long, he was sure Harry would get tired of waiting and just go on without him and would have to talk to his relatives. After all, most students would be in the Hogwarts Express by now, going home to their families for Yule, and there would be few people which, in turn, would make it difficult for Harry to avoid his relatives after their fight. And _then_ they would make up and Harry wouldn’t spend nearly as much time with Tom and _that could not happen_.

 Ergo, he needed to hurry up.

 Tom _almost_ stumbled coming out of the showers, with how fast he was moving. _Almost_ being the key word, of course, because he _didn’t_ stumble. Of course not. He was far too good for that.

 “Well, that was fast.”

 There was a slight awed note to Harry’s tone as the other boy finished putting on his shoes.

 Tom tried not to preen too obviously.

 The common room, just like their dorm, was empty. Spending the holidays in Hogwarts, as a Slytherin, could be _very_ lonely, if one cared about that sort of thing – which Tom didn’t (much). As a house of purebloods, traditional purebloods at that, it was nearly unthinkable for parents to leave their children and heirs to spend a magical festivity, like Yule, by themselves. And now, with the war…well. No parent would leave their children by themselves if they could help it.

 The short trip to the Great Hall was eerily, although not oddly, quiet, despite Tom and Harry’s continued bickering. This would be the fifth Yule Tom spent at Hogwarts and, as such, the fifth time he wandered the halls and slept in the dorms and rested in the Common Room and ate in the Great Hall – in near complete isolation.

 They reached the Great Hall and, as Tom predicted, the four long House tables had been moved against the walls, making space for a single round table, set for ten, which stood in the middle of the room. What Tom _hadn’t_ predicted was that the war would impinge such fright that the only students not going home to their families were Tom himself, Harry and his relatives.

 Realising that fact left him quite curious; he could distinctly remember having heard that Harry still had an uncle and aunt, parents of the Prewett siblings. So why would all of them choose to stay behind at school, instead of being with their remaining family – especially after the tragedy they’d gone through?

 “Not that I mind, of course,” Tom started, in a slow drawl as he thought of the best way to phrase his question. The table was still vacant, since there were still a couple of minutes left until lunch time, and as such he and Harry got to choose where to sit “but exactly _why_ are you spending the holidays here? I mean, wouldn’t your cousins prefer to spend this time with their parents?”

 Harry’s eyes flashed briefly with Tom could only describe as anguish, before the younger boy gave him a strained smile.

 “Their parents aren’t…very well. They took what happened to Hermione’s parents pretty hard. As in, extremely hard. Hermione was trying to move on, and that became kinda difficult when the people around her didn’t. So we decided that it would probably be best if we stayed here, you know? It’s…well, it’s easier.”

 Tom _didn’t_ actually know; he’d never had family to remember or mourn, and had no idea how to relate or react to these types of news. He knew he was supposed to appear saddened, or, at the very least, understanding, but it was _difficult_ . It had never bothered him before; in fact, it was something he’d treasured. It was something that made him different from everyone else, and it was something that made him _special_.

 But now…he sort of wished he _did_ understand it.

 If only to be able to understand what _Harry_ was feeling.

 Shortly after they sat down, the rest of the table’s occupants started to trickle in. Slughorn was the first one to arrive, followed by Dumbledore and Professor Merrythought and Tom felt himself die a little bit inside as he saw Dumbledore seat down right in front of him. Dippet and Kettleburn were the next ones to arrive and Harry’s relatives the last - and it was just his luck that the only vacant seats were right next to him.

 Tom couldn’t have _not noticed_ Harry’s tensing shoulders if he’d tried.

 Greenthorne and the Prewett girl weren’t faring much better. Prewett seemed to be avoiding looking at Harry altogether, fists clenched and jaw set ( _resentment, anger_ , Tom’s brain quickly categorized; the girl glanced in his direction and he tried to not to smirk too obviously as he remembered their confrontation. She narrowed her eyes. _Angrier_ ). Greenthorne’s arms were crossed, her stance directly opposing Prewett’s as she locked eyes on Harry, chin slightly raised and altogether aloof ( _arrogance, defensiveness)_.

 Tom wasn’t very good with pesky things like _feelings_ (especially his own), but he could read the atmosphere _just fine_ and if the air around them was already tense, one quick glance at Harry and at that fiery look in his eyes (one that Tom knew _intrinsically_ from their many arguments and always made his heart beat faster and his breath come quicker because it was so immeasurably _thrilling)_ was enough to confirm that it could evolve into a positively volatile… _situation_.

 And clearly, he wasn’t the only one to notice this.

 “Hey, I don’t think we’ve met.” The sudden voice was enough to divert attention, and the red headed boy who spoke grinned at Tom and held his hand out “I’m Ron Prewett.”

 He cut a tall figure, and taking into account the shock of bright red hair that sat atop his head, looking purposefully messy, it was curious how the Prewett boy seemed to mostly go unnoticed - or at least, to Tom, he had.

 “Charmed. Tom Riddle”. Tom shook Prewett’s hand with a polite smile, which became slightly strained at the redhead’s small snort

 “Believe me, I know.”

 And without further ado, the redhead took the seat to Harry’s right.

 The small, relieved smile that Harry directed at his cousin was one of the most beautiful things Tom had ever seen.

 Something _grabbed_ at his chest, something small and vile, that made him grit his teeth and feel his blood run faster, made everything in his body feel warm and hypersensitive, created a small coil of _anger_ and _hatred_ in his stomach that made his hand twitch with the desire to grab his wand and Tom tried hard, _so hard_ , to ignore how much he just wanted to practice some less than nice spells on Ron Prewett, how much he just wanted to _maim_ and _hurt_ that insignificant insect that _dared_ incite such a reaction from Harry, from _his_ Harry.

_How dare he._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom is finally coming to terms with his feelings, Ron makes an appearance (woo hoo!) and whaat? Was that a bit of plot in that dream?? You mean this story isn't just fluff? Say whaaat!  
> On another note; Tom is very cute but he is also very much possessive and not someone you want to cross - i hope that last paragraph reminds us that this relationship will not be all rainbows and roses...  
> Last note (i promise); I usually try to write Tom's feelings the way I feel my own, which includes the episodes of anxiety he goes through. Feedback on those would be greatly appreciated!


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